


my only sunshine

by imagines



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (both physical and emotional), Aftercare, Angst with a Happy Ending, Biting, Blowjobs, Bottom Shiro, Crying During Sex, Dom Keith, Established Relationship, Grieving, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Panic Attack, Rimming, Sheith Reverse Bang 2018, Switching, a brief non-graphic scene of implied pet death, but Keith thinks it is, mild orgasm denial, set between “Blackout” and “The Journey”
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-10 16:21:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15295416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagines/pseuds/imagines
Summary: What were the last words Shiro had said to him? Keith can’t even remember—they should rise easily in his mind, burning against the black sky of his memory. Yet it’s like they never spoke to each other at all, a dull hum spliced into the place where Shiro’s voice should be. He thinks he heard Shiro yell before it happened. Or scream. He doesn’t know which one would be worse.The rest of them—they need to check the oxygen levels. How can they juststandthere, breathing like it’s no effort at all, when his chest is crumpling in on itself like tissue paper in an angry fist—“Keith.Keith.”Allura is crouching next to him on the floor of the hangar, touching him, touching his shoulder, and he doesn’t like that, but he can’t move. He doesn’t think he flinches, but she takes her hand off him anyway. He’s not sure he likes that either.Nothingfeels right.(Keith, and what happened while Shiro was gone.)





	my only sunshine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FahriiFeather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FahriiFeather/gifts).



> For the [2018 Sheith Reverse Bang](https://sheithreversebang.tumblr.com) with art by [fahriicat](http://fahriicat.tumblr.com/)! Once again I'm indebted to [Liv](https://softlysheith.tumblr.com) for her Fic Assistance. <3

  _you are my sunshine, my only sunshine_

_you make me happy when skies are gray_

_you’ll never know, dear, how much **i love you**_

_please don’t take my sunshine away_

 * * *

What were the last words Shiro had said to him? Keith can’t even remember—they should rise easily in his mind, burning against the black sky of his memory. Yet it’s like they never spoke to each other at all, a dull hum spliced into the place where Shiro’s voice should be. He thinks he heard Shiro yell before it happened. Or scream. He doesn’t know which one would be worse.

The rest of them—they need to check the oxygen levels. How can they just _stand_ there, breathing like it’s no effort at all, when his chest is crumpling in on itself like tissue paper in an angry fist—

“Keith. _Keith_.”

Allura is crouching next to him on the floor of the hangar, touching him, touching his shoulder, and he doesn’t like that, but he can’t move. He doesn’t think he flinches, but she takes her hand off him anyway. He’s not sure he likes that either. _Nothing_ feels right.

“Keith, can you breathe with me? Three ticks in, three ticks out.”

They’re all fucking staring at him, because he’s the only one who can’t breathe, because he’s the only one with a wicked hand reaching down his throat to rip out his lungs, because, because—

Allura whispers something over her shoulder.

They leave him alone with her.

The pressure on his ribcage lets up just a fraction. He keeps his forehead pressed to the floor and tries to follow her slow breaths.

* * *

Alone in his bed for the first time in months, Keith finds himself reversed. Always before, he needed darkness and silence to sleep. Tonight, the absence of sound bores into his skull, ruthless as a jackhammer; the shadows curl up on his chest and press him to the mattress.

He grabs his holopad and loads up a playlist of random video files—just stupid shit, cats falling off tables and so on. He turns the brightness and volume up all the way, sets it against the wall by his head, and closes his eyes. Lacking a TV set, this is the best he can do, and soon he’s on the verge of tumbling into restless sleep.

It almost works.

“ _Keith, it’s me.”_

His eyes fly open.

“ _If you’re watching this, I’m on my way to Kerberos. I wrote down what I was gonna say, but—” Shiro sets a piece of paper down, out of the frame. He’s sitting on his bed in his Garrison dorm. “I think I’d just like to talk to you_.”

art by [fahriicat](http://fahriicat.tumblr.com) / [[full size](https://image.ibb.co/kqUdcT/fahriicat_keithandshiro.png)]

All hopes of sleep are crushed. He should stop the video right now, before his thoughts get out of hand, but all he’s wanted since he laid eyes on that empty flight seat this afternoon is to see this man and hear his voice. So it doesn’t matter that he’s got this video memorized.

_Shiro runs a hand through his hair. There’s no white streak and no scar. No hint of his future; of how his mind and body will be split open over and over. “This mission—it’s everything I’ve been working for. Almost my whole life. Since I can remember, I’ve wanted to explore the galaxy. But I never guessed I’d meet someone who’d make me want to come home. And I know you’ve never met someone who didn’t leave you behind.”_

The screen blurs. It’s not the video quality.

“ _I am coming back to you, Keith. I hope you believe that, because I don’t want to stay out there without you. I’m not asking you to wait for me, or anything like that.” Shiro’s laugh is small and self-deprecating. “All I want is to come home and see you again. I have so much I want to tell you.” A pause in which Shiro blinks fast, clearing his throat. “I guess that’s all. Just wanted you to have something from me to hold onto if it gets hard. See you in awhile.”_

The video ends, switching next to one of an incredibly talkative husky, and Keith nearly slaps his phone trying to stop it. A quiet moan tears out of the center of him, raw and low and endless. He wants to scream but this is the closest he can get. Alone, he shreds apart.

* * * 

Keith wakes after no more than a couple hours of fitful sleep, so sick to his stomach the thought of breakfast is impossible. He wraps up in a robe anyway and drags himself to the kitchen, knowing his eyes are red and swollen, unable to care. It doesn't feel possible to care about anything. If he lets himself feel, all that comes to the surface is screeching pain. Like the time the hoverbike skidded out from under him, and they had to pick gravel out of his left side for an eternity. That's how the inside of his head feels—scraped bloody, all the nerves exposed.

The only one who’s ever up this early on purpose is Shiro, because he likes to work out alone before everything on the ship jolts back to life. Right afterward, he always makes himself some kind of weird protein energy shake thing in the blender. It’s always green. _At least it’s a familiar color_ , he’d said once. _Even if the flavor is…mysterious_.

Keith’s a few yards from the doorway to the kitchen when he hears the blender start whirring. His gut twists, because it can’t be, it could never be this easy, he cannot _dare_ hope—but he’s running anyway, stumbling through a haze of half-sleep and shock, nearly skidding past the kitchen but slamming a hand on the doorframe to stop himself, and he looks inside—

It’s only Hunk, and he has no idea what kind of a car crash is happening inside Keith’s chest at this moment. Keith slaps a hand over his mouth; belatedly morphs it into a swipe at his jaw, as if scratching an itch. He barely holds himself back from shouting. Hunk couldn’t have known he’d wake up and hear.

Hunk stops the blender when he sees Keith walk in, offering a gentle smile. “Hey. Couldn’t sleep?”

“No,” Keith bites out. “I was a little preoccupied.”

Hunk’s smile collapses. “Yeah, I don’t blame you. Can I do anything for you? Breakfast smoothie? Tea?”

“If I try to eat, I am going to throw up all over your kitchen. Don’t think you want that.” Keith hops up onto a bar stool at the counter, resting his chin in one hand. “Where did you even find _tea_?”

“Allura showed me her stash of Altean herbs. They were cryopacked for long-term storage, so they’re still good, and some of them taste pretty great as tea. This morning’s blend is…” Hunk checks a selection of little metal tins lined up on the counter. They’re engraved in Altean, which neither of them can read well yet. “Well, it tastes kind of like mint and black tea, and it does _not_ make you see rainbows layered all over everything.” He coughs lightly. “Unlike a particularly tasty raspberry-ish concoction I tested the other day. That, I am reserving for special occasions. Sorry, I’m rambling—did you want any of the mint-y one?”

“You know what, yeah, I’ll take some.” Drinking tea won’t make Keith feel any better, but neither will sitting alone in his room until someone forces him to come out of it.

* * *

Time smudges like ink on wet paper, blurring days and nights into monotone. Sleep deprivation sets in, and the simple act of organizing his thoughts becomes a trek through knee-deep mud. During a training exercise in the lions, he repeatedly reacts several beats after anyone else, missing cues and marks until Coran calls over the radio for them all to take a breather, disappointment thick in his tone. Keith knows it’s entirely his fault, and he doesn’t feel like hearing about it, so he makes a break for his room the moment Red touches down in the hangar.

Lance catches up to him anyway, because his stupid legs are that fucking long and Keith is too tired to evade him. “What’s with you, man? You’re not yourself lately.”

It’s a good thing Lance keeps his hands in his pockets, because if he tried to touch Keith right now, Keith might draw blood. “No shit,” he snaps. “Unlike the rest of you, I’ve managed to notice that we are short one paladin.”

Lance stops short, rocking back on his heels as if Keith had punched him. Which Keith might just still; it remains to be seen. “Of course we noticed, but we’re in the middle of a massive attack on the Galra. We can’t just scrap the whole strategy out of nowhere.”

“While you keep to your plan like he’s not _gone_ , the trail’s getting colder. If you won’t help look for him, I’ll do it myself.”

“Listen, I just think Shiro would want—”

Keith’s broken laugh cuts him off. “Like you have any fucking idea what Shiro would want. You. Bottom-of-the-barrel fighter pilot, a rank you claimed only when—as you so delicately put it—I _washed out_. Ever wonder why I did? Ever consider the timing? Of course not, because you never stop thinking about what _you_ want. The only reason you came after me now is to get me back in line. You don’t actually care. And you’ll never know him like I do.”

They’ve reached Keith’s room, and he ducks inside, shutting the door on Lance’s “Keith, that’s not—” Fair? Reasonable? True? Doesn’t matter; whatever Lance was gonna say, it was wrong.

Keith slumps against the inside of the door, staring at his bed. It doesn’t look the least bit inviting, even though his legs want to give out underneath him and he can hardly keep his eyes open. If he tries to lie down, he’s just going to snap awake again, memories striking like lightning: strong arms around his waist, warm breath on the back of his neck, soft laughter against his hair… How is he supposed to get any rest like that?

He turns slightly, pressing his ear to the seal of the door. He can’t hear anything, and even if Lance is still out there, Keith can find other walls to put between them.

He goes to the bed and yanks a pillow and a couple of blankets off it. Arms full, he knees the sensor pad at the door, and thanks his luck upon finding an empty hallway.

As a kid, he’d had a dog for a little while—a puppy with soft black fur, of indeterminate origin. He’d liked that she shared those traits with him. Then one day he’d come home from school, and the mother of the family he was staying with sat him down on the couch and told him the puppy had run away. _Why?_ he’d asked. _Didn’t she like it here?_ The mother had stood up suddenly and—voice cracking—told him that was enough of that, and not to talk about it anymore. Later the father had come home, driving the minivan, which was shining like new. _Took it through the car wash like you asked_ , he’d said to the mother, and for the rest of the time Keith lived with them, he kept on thinking he heard the jingle of the puppy’s collar, but he never saw her again.

It’s like that now, walking into the blue-green light of the observation deck. For a split second, he sees the line of Shiro’s shoulders; the slope of his back—all that power contained by a gentle spirit. But raw desire has never returned anything he’s ever lost. The mirage fades, and he’s left staring out into the abyss.

_I know you’ve never met someone who didn’t leave you behind._

He’s not a child anymore, and there’s no one around to tell him comforting lies. After Kerberos, Shiro would never again have chosen to leave him. Whether by accident or by design, Shiro must have been stolen from him.

He spreads a blanket on the floor at one end of the window, where the light is dimmest but he can still see out into the universe. Shiro must be _somewhere_ ; Keith feels the knowledge like a second pulse in his bloodstream. He lets himself drift to the distant beat.

After the Garrison had spat him out like a loose tooth—irritating and useless as he was to them—it had been much the same in the desert. He’d watched the stars shine, knowing Shiro was among them, and had found faint comfort in thinking of Shiro distant and glittering. He was a beacon guiding Keith to his side, if only Keith could pick out the right point of light.

No one finds him on the observation deck, and why should they? Only he and Shiro ever came looking for each other there. He takes to bedding down in that corner every night, arranging himself a soft nest of blankets, sleeping in T-shirts out of Shiro’s closet. They smell like detergent, not at all like Shiro, but the memory of Shiro’s frame in these shirts still helps. It’s the first decent sleep he’s had since Shiro disappeared. He can even think the phrase now without feeling like his brain is about to peel itself right out of his skull: Shiro disappeared. Vanished. Went away. And no one knows how, but it only makes sense to begin in the place where it happened. He’s not afraid of looking for Shiro alone—solitude has been familiar to him for his entire life. He’ll search every planet and every star, in every galaxy if he has to. Whatever it takes, for as long as it takes. This one time, he’s going to find what he lost.

* * *

The first time back at the battlefield, Red prowls through the wreckage, uneasy. Keith’s pretty sure there’s no one else here, though—the scavengers have come and gone; the blasts were too powerful to leave much behind that was salvagaeable. It’s nothing more now than scraps of the Empire’s ships mixing with the ashes of its soldiers.

He’d pored over the logs from Black, but there had been no evidence that Shiro had ejected himself from his lion during the battle. Even so, watching shrapnel patter off the cockpit window like macabre raindrops, it’s hard not to wonder if Shiro is—

No. He won’t allow that thought into his mind. He has no proof of anything, and therefore no proof that Shiro _isn’t_ alive.

He peers through the sea of twisted metal, wishing he could shut off the quiet fountain of hope within him. If he doesn’t find Shiro tonight, he’s going to choke and drown in his stupid _hope_.

He doesn’t find Shiro. Not that night, nor on the next ten. Hope slows to a trickle, then dries up, until he becomes a wasteland, dry and numb and barren of wishes. It’s time to branch out.

Night by night, he checks off quadrants, performing fly-bys past dying stars and through silent asteroid fields. He keeps the radio on, but its stream of static and alien chatter never offers him even one slender thread of a lead. Whatever they’re all talking about out there, it isn’t Shiro.

Every so often, he checks the battlefield again. Just in case he’s missed something—the way he’d check his pockets over and over to find a missing key. No matter how many times he looks in the same place, there’s always a faint spark in his heart just before his fingers close on empty space. And every time he hunts through what amounts to a graveyard, he never finds a body in black and white armor, and he’s grateful even as his heart breaks harder.

Sometimes, there are rumors. An alien on one planet says he’s heard of a secret prisoner who looks just like the picture Keith holds up, but then he tries to shake Keith down for GAC and even Keith isn’t that gullible. As a test, he puts on a show of excitement, and asks the alien if the prisoner had bright blue eyes. “Yes, yes, blue as a Korvallian’s fur—here’s the name of the Galra craft where they’re keeping him—”

“Then it’s not him,” Keith tells the alien, because whatever shade a Korvallian’s fur is, it’s not the stormcloud-gray of Shiro’s eyes.

When he happens upon the very ship the alien had named, though, it takes everything in him not to try to sneak aboard. _What Shiro wanted, what Shiro wanted_ —Shiro’s not here to praise him, but he still wants to make Shiro proud, and Shiro probably wouldn’t be excited about Keith running into battle by himself on the merit of a story designed to make him give up all his money.

* * *

The team starts talking about finding a new black paladin, as if Shiro isn’t still out there somewhere, as if anyone could ever fly like him. Lead like him. _Be_ like him. It’s too much, it’s too soon, it’s all wrong, and he tells them so, even though he knows that Black lying quiet and still in her hangar isn’t doing the universe any favors. They’re giving up—he can’t give up.

Patience, forever his weak point, frays further each day without Shiro’s hands and voice to steady him. He sits through most of a diplomatic banquet staring at his lap while everyone pretends the body isn’t missing a vital organ. No breath without lungs—no pulse without a heart—no thought or motion without a brain. He barely feels his palms hit the table, and it’s as if he’s listening to himself in a dream: “ _Shiro_ was the Black Lion! Voltron is gone!”

He’s satisfied by their shocked faces for all of two ticks, and then his eyes start to burn. He turns his back on them, on their ridiculous scheme to _replace_ Shiro, and leaves the banquet.

The doors hiss shut behind him, and he pauses with a hand on the wall, taking slow and shaky breaths. Someone might come after him, and if they do, he’s ready for combat. He’s got plenty to say, words packed inside him so tight they’re crawling up his throat like rattlesnakes, venom at the ready.

If they’re worried, if they care, they sure don’t try to show it. No one follows him, and after a few minutes of standing there being furious that there’s no one around to be furious _at_ , he stalks away down the corridor.

Having nowhere he wants to go, he wanders for some time, taking mindless turns down dim-lit halls and going up and down whichever staircases he comes across. So it’s almost a surprise when he realizes he’s arrived at the entryway to the Black Lion’s hangar—almost, because he suspects that either his subconscious or the Lion herself had everything to do with him coming here.

He hasn’t been down here since Shiro vanished. Black is slumped on her side just like he’d left her, eyes lightless. Like a dead thing, he thinks, and immediately has to swallow hard so that he won’t be sick. Even now, the sight of her is a sledgehammer to his chest—blunt trauma in its psychological variation. The hangar is too silent; the overhead lights too bright.

She can’t open her mouth, so he makes it inside by wriggling through an emergency hatch, entering the small passenger cabin. The door to the cockpit is ahead of him, just like it was when he ran to the Black Lion after that battle. And just like that day, it slides open and he enters and Shiro’s still gone. He thinks of roadside memorials, bundles of faded plastic flowers tied to stop signs or tree trunks or guard rails. Here is the spot where someone beloved lost their life. Standing too close to those gaudy bouquets always made him feel like he was caught between two worlds, experiencing someone else’s last moments, but a choppy low-res version that he could leave at any moment and step back into life.

He puts one hand on the controls. Had Shiro known what was happening when he was…taken? Had it hurt? Had he cried for help? None of them had heard anything, just that last scream over the comms, and then the awful silence. Here is the spot where his beloved—became lost. He has to think of it as _lost_ , or he’ll lose himself to grief. If he stops looking for Shiro, there’s no one else to take his place. There’s no one who cares as much as he does. This job is on his shoulders, and it’s lonely and endless, and he’ll do it without the slightest complaint.

When he exits Black, the hangar is still empty; no one has followed him here.Probably they’re all doing damage control at the banquet, because where there is Keith, there is damage. He turns to Black one more time, leaning his forehead against the cold metal of her and closing his eyes. Shiro had wanted him to learn to control his feelings, and maybe everyone thinks Keith _doesn’t_ want to, but the painful reality is that whenever he explodes, it’s like vines bursting out of him, trussing and choking him and digging in with thorns. He wishes he could take them all down to a manageable size. Just go in with a scalpel, or an axe, and hack and slice away at every gargantuan emotion.

But this is not possible.

* * *

Keith could spend time in Shiro’s bedroom—but that room doesn’t hold much of Shiro’s spirit, since they all left Earth with barely more than the clothes they had on. Few personal touches are present, and those were all that had made Shiro’s Garrison dorm a comfort to Keith. The empty space which Shiro had filled is horrifying now—Shiro’s bed in particular, which is still neatly made, because Shiro always made his bed. _Makes_ his bed. Keith will not let Shiro fall into the past tense. He’d often tease Shiro about this habit, claiming he himself liked to leave things “comfortably messy,” whereas Shiro was just destroying the evidence. And every time, Shiro would grab him around the waist and press kisses to his neck, saying, “We’ll make more evidence, baby.” Keith thinks it’s a cruel joke of the universe that his happiest memories hurt the most.

He takes to visiting Black instead. He won’t sit in the pilot seat—that’s Shiro’s place; it would feel like trespassing. Instead he sits on the floor at the base of the console, tucking himself into a ball with his arms around his knees as if he’s curled up at Shiro’s feet. Or he lies down on one of the bench seats in the back.

What he does there, he supposes, is kind of like praying. Going to a place of magic and power, remaining silent and reverent, and speaking to an unseen entity who never responds in any way Keith can discern? Yeah, sounds about right. But it’s still far better than Shiro’s room. Here is the last place Shiro was seen; the last place he fought.

“Don’t know if you can hear me,” Keith tells the lion. He’s pacing in a slow circle in the cockpit, running his hand along the console and walls. Through her unlit eyes, all he can see is the empty hangar. “But if you can—I’m gonna get him back for you. You’ll fly again. I know you’ve never had a pilot like him—he loves you so much. You’re part of him now, like he’s part of you. And even if they get someone else to fly you in the meantime, it won’t be forever, okay? I’ll find him, I promise.”

As usual, nothing happens. He knows how she must feel: her light has gone away; she can’t move or think or speak. Without the touch of her true love, she can’t do what she’s meant to do. She’ll sleep until her prince returns to wake her.

When he exits Black, he makes sure to pat her on the paw. “I’ll find him,” he says again. “Just hang on.” It’s as much to himself as it is to her.

* * *

If Keith were a more forgiving person, he might admit that Lance is trying. But trying isn’t enough; for Keith, there’s only actions and results. “We all miss Shiro,” Lance had said, but _missing_ is not adequate to describe what’s happening inside of Keith. You miss a phone call. You miss a friend who’s moved away. You miss a lover after a breakup. But this? It’s like all of his skin has been ripped off, every nerve now bare to the elements. Every day, he wakes up, he does his job, and then he sleeps again, but he can’t call it living. He’s surviving. Existing.

He finally agrees, when everyone else has failed, to put himself in Shiro’s place and see what Black thinks about it.

As always, entering Black feels like walking into a tomb. She’s as silent as ever, only the emergency lights illuminating her interior. This time, though, when he thumps into the flight seat, a thrill sparks up his spine. For a moment, he’s about to beat himself up for feeling excitement, and then he realizes: it’s not his emotion.

It’s hers. She’s here, an undercurrent in the dim cockpit, ready to light up; she just needs…a battery.

He knows what will happen when he touches the controls, but he doesn’t want to know. He wants to be wrong, wants to get up and leave her without even trying. He could walk out right now—tell them he tried and it didn’t work. Be free of all this.

 _Alone, so alone_. Again, the feeling isn’t his, but his heart cracks open.

“You and me both,” he mutters. She’s been missing Shiro this whole time, too. “Okay, girl, I’ll give it a shot.” Deep breath. Hands on the controls—

The cockpit floods with violet light. Her eyes open; her roar shakes the hangar. Out the viewscreen, he sees the other paladins leap back in surprise. Only Allura holds her place, awestruck and smiling.

He wants to throw up. “Please, _no_ ,” he begs, but she’s plugged into him now, swallowing the current he’s pouring into her, amplifying it to lightning voltage. _You chose this_ , he reminds himself. _She needs you, and Shiro needs her._

In a daze he exits, trudging down the ramp with his helmet cradled in his arms. They’re all silent and staring. Then the congratulations start, and he burns under their praise; he doesn’t want them to be proud of him for usurping Shiro’s place. Shiro would be proud too, but if Shiro were here to be proud, none of this would be happening in the first place. _For Shiro, for Shiro_. He crushes the sickening pain into something small and manageable, and stuffs it into the cellar of himself, padlocking it for later.

* * *

They attack a Galra base, and during the recon portion, Keith doesn’t make it back to Black before some gigantic commanding officer catches up to him and knocks him on his face. She gets in a few good swipes at his back before Lance takes her out with a headshot. Her claws, Keith notes, are actual razors embedded in her fingertips; and then his vision goes grey—

He wakes up in a pod with all of them staring at him. “How are you feeling?” Allura asks.

Fine. Great. Roughly like the day Iverson had called him into his office and said the words _pilot error_. In his heart, Keith knows it’s not fair to lash out at Allura, who is kind and good and never means to cause pain. But his heart’s covered in a rotten shroud of fury at the complete _unfairness_ of his life so far. “How do you think?” he snarls, and shoves past her.

Hours later, someone taps gently on the door of his room, as if hoping he’s asleep and won’t hear. Too bad for them. He rolls out of bed and opens the door.

“Hey,” Pidge says. “I thought you might want some food?” She has a tray with her; the fantastical food-sculptures could only be Hunk’s. They’re probably delicious as always, but he always feels nauseous upon exiting a pod, and this time’s no different.

“I’m not hungry,” he tells her. “Sorry you wasted your time.”

A crestfallen look flashes over her face before she steels her expression into a bland smile. “Okay. Just let me—us—know if we can do anything.”

“Wait,” he says, trying to take pity. “Can you help me with the bandages? I can’t reach—my shoulders are still really sore.”

It’s as close to as an apology as he can get right now, and thankfully she recognizes it as one. Her smile becomes a little more real. “Sure, I can do that.”

He turns his back to her and pulls his T-shirt over his head; he hears her suck in her breath through her teeth. “That bad still? Maybe I should get back in the pod.”

“No, you’re pretty much healed up. But there’s a lot of bruising—no wonder you’re still hurting. And you’ve got some cool scars now.”

“Good, I was worried the one from the Trials would make me look unbalanced all by itself.” When he faces her again, the corners of her mouth are twitching.

“Happy to hear your fashion experiment is working out.”

He goes to his bed, where he sits sideways on the edge.

She perches behind him. “Okay if I start?”

“Yeah,” he says, bracing himself for the stinging rip of adhesive. But her fingers are gentle as she carefully works the tape and gauze free, and it doesn’t really hurt much worse. Afterward, she rubs a salve that Allura gave her into his aching muscles. It’s hard to allow her to handle him this way, when he’s so desperate for Shiro’s touch.

Finally she finishes, taking her hands off him but not getting up from the bed yet. “It’s like suffocation, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“Knowing they’re lost, but not where to look. And knowing they’re alive, but not if you’ll see them again.”

“You think Shiro’s alive? Wow, that makes two of us.” His knuckles are turning white where he’s squeezing his kneecaps with both hands.

“I have to. If I gave up on him, it would be like—” Her voice breaks, and he doesn’t ask her to finish the sentence. It would be like giving up on her family, too. “It probably won’t get much easier,” she says, very quietly. “All that’s changed for me is that I can hide it when I need to, which is most of the time. I just want you to know that it’s normal if you never get over it.”

There’s something he’s needed to tell her for awhile now, and it stings him worse the more kindness she shows him. “I know I didn’t understand when you put finding your family ahead of the greater good. It wasn’t the choice I thought I would have made, so I thought it was wrong. But now—it’s taking everything in me not to blow it all up trying to find him. I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago,” she says, but her voice is just a little ragged.

“Still.”

“Thanks, though. I appreciate it.” She takes an unsteady breath. “Hey…I could help you monitor transmissions, if you want. I already have a setup that scans for Matt and Dad’s names. It wouldn’t be hard to add Shiro’s.”

He finds himself unable to speak, but he turns and flings his arms around her shoulders.

The noise she makes is not quite a laugh, but it’s close. “Yeah, yeah, I got your back.” She squeezes back, hard. “We all do. So are you gonna let us be there for you?”

“Maybe.” He won’t, not really, and they both know it, but it’s a nice thought anyway.

Lacking an actual corpse, the two of them have no choice but to continue to believe. Hope brands their hearts, searing away any trace of doubt. Only the agony of faith remains.

* * *

The team is licking their wounds after a tough battle, hiding in a small uninhabited solar system. Out the window of the observation deck, there’s some kind of ice planet with a couple of small moons orbiting it. They’re in delicate balance, each one’s gravitational field keeping the other in check. Keith’s been alone for awhile, tucked into his chosen corner with his blankets, because no one else comes to this deck—usually. Quiet footsteps scuff behind him; he turns, and there’s Lance with his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Hey,” Keith says guardedly.

“I’m guessing you’re not really looking for company.”

“Not so much.”

“I won’t be long. Just wanted to tell you—we did good today, you know? Thanks. We needed you.”

“Awfully kind of you.”

“Don’t get used to it.” The corner of Lance’s mouth arcs into a half-smile. “It’s just the truth, man.” The planet outside catches his gaze: “Whoa, that’s something.”

“I guess, yeah.”

“We’re kinda like those moons,” Lance murmurs. It’s almost to no one at all, but Keith answers anyway.

“What do you mean?”

“We can’t get too close to each other or we’ll blow up. But if one of us was gone, the other would probably fly off into space or crash into the planet.”

“Poetic.”

Lance sniffs. “I have hidden depths, Keith.”

“What’s in ‘em, insults and misplaced romantic advances?”

“I’m trying to bond with you here!”

“ _Now_ you want to bond? Took you long enough.”

“I gotta be your right-hand man whether we like it or not. Are you gonna let me?” Lance’s voice has taken on a shrill edge, and Keith decides he may as well relent.

“You’re right. I know you’re right. Just—be good to Red for me, will you?”

“Dude, of course. I think he misses you. He knows what he has to do, and he’ll work with me, but you were his first paladin in ten thousand years. He’s not gonna forget you.”

“Thanks, Lance.”

“Anytime.” They stand quietly, more than an arm’s length apart, watching the moons circling their planet. Lance seems to have forgotten his promise not to stay too long, but Keith finds he doesn’t mind. After some time, Lance clears his throat. “Tell me if it’s a bad time to talk about this, but…”

“What?”

Lance spits it out in a rush: “I know I don’t miss him the same way you do. I _know_ that. I just wanted to say—I want to find him too. It was hard watching you take his place, and part of that is because of how much I’ve always wanted to follow him. I haven’t given up, and I won’t. If anyone knows what he can survive, it’s you. So if you say he’s out there, I believe you. And I’m behind you. That’s all.”

Keith swallows hard. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just catches Lance’s eye and gives him a small nod.

Lance steps just close enough to elbow him gently. “Since we’re out here talking about our feelings and all, you wanna have a sleepover maybe? Play some truth or dare, a little spin-the-bottle?”

“You are physically incapable of letting a moment just be a moment, aren’t you?”

“I’m not hearing a no!”  
  
“If I were gonna play spin-the-bottle, it would _not_ be with you.”

“I mean I know you wanna make out with Shiro all the time, but the _point_ of the game is kissing people you wouldn’t normally kiss—”

“Hey, Lance?”

“Yes, Keith?”

“Remember that time you almost got sucked out an airlock?”

“Vividly.”

“I could put you back in there in three ticks flat.”

Lance holds his hands up. “All _right_ , fine, fine, but I want you to know you’re missing out.”

“Tell it to Allura.”  
  
“You know what, maybe I will,” Lance huffs. “At least she appreciates my lines. Sort of.”

“Yeah, so she can flirt with Blue.”

“That was uncalled for!”

Despite himself, Keith feels a smile sneaking onto his face. That hasn’t happened in awhile. _It’s what Shiro would want_ , he reminds himself, and breathes through the twist of pain in his chest at the thought.

* * *

And then comes the day that Black calls him. _COME HERE, PALADIN_ , she roars inside his mind _._ She’s got her claws sunk deep in his heart, dragging him forward; he’s never run so fast in his life. There’s something out there—the energy drives him—there’s only one other moment in his life he’s felt like this, like he’s possessed with unreasonable hope that turned out to be a dream coming true right when it was about to wither and crumble into dust. _ARRIVAL_ , she howls, a mountain-lion scream of furious hope and desperate love, and he tries not to think of that night the pod crashed at the Garrison, tries and fails, because there’s static crackling all over his skin and his hands slam the controls with a jolt to his core like a thunderclap.

He is not in charge—no one commands her, and certainly not him in this moment. _She_ is in control, and she just wants him along for the ride, alone with her, because what’s ahead is for the two of them. Whether it’s heart-shredding grief or—he doesn’t allow himself the luxury of potential joy. He can’t let himself feel _anything_ until he knows what he’s meant to feel.

Ahead of them, her bright eyes pick out a tiny speck of a craft, hanging motionless and dark in open space. Keith is already preparing himself: the life-support systems have all shut down and whoever’s inside is as good as dead.

 _NOT DEAD_ , she snarls, and opens her mouth.

Just before she swallows the little ship, her vision sharpens, and Keith sees who’s strapped inside. His head is alight with a soft buzzing. Already he’s imagining the feeling of that figure in his arms. Slumped back in his seat, but awake and smiling, is Shiro.

_ALIVE._

* * *

Getting his arms around Shiro is a harsh reality check. Thinner, frailer, unkempt, and smelling like a week in a small ship with no access to a shower…but the man is impossibly beautiful nonetheless. Shiro’s muscles tremble as Keith lifts him to his feet out of the stale and airless cockpit, and he buries his face in Keith’s shoulder.

“Thought I’d lost you again,” Shiro murmurs. “Think I’m dreaming now.”

“You’re not dreaming.” Keith strokes his hair—long and shaggy and full of knots—and plans how he will convince Shiro this is real. “I’ve got you, baby.”

Shiro smiles against his neck, and Keith closes his eyes and revels in the sensation of Shiro’s breath on his skin. “That’s supposed to be my line.”

“Today it’s mine,” Keith tells him, rocking him gently. “I’m going to take care of you.”

Black has them nearly back to the castle, and Shiro stiffens as the ship appears ahead of them. “I don’t think I can talk to the others yet, Keith. Please, I’m so tired,” he begs, and Keith squeezes him tighter.

“I’ll take care of everything,” he promises. He gets Shiro settled in the excessively comfortable extra seat Black has helpfully provided, and radios ahead to Coran. “Short version, I’ve got Shiro with me. He’s alive, he’s safe, but he’s pretty beat. For now, can we keep the uproar to a minimum? He wants to see you all, he’s just…been through a lot.”

He can hear the other paladins chattering wildly on the bridge. Coran goes to confer with them, and a moment later returns to the screen. “Of course, Keith. Heavens, we’re all beside ourselves here, but we understand he needs to rest.”

“Hey, guys. It’s good to see you again.” Shiro waves weakly at the screen; Keith grins when Lance and Pidge and Hunk cheer.

* * *

Keith hasn’t planned ahead. In the back of his mind he’s assuming that of course he’ll take Shiro to Shiro’s room, but they pass Keith’s room first and he pauses. Makes the decision. Presses the lock pad with his palm; watches Shiro’s eyes widen in confusion. He tightens his arm around Shiro’s shoulders. “I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he tells Shiro. “I said I’m taking care of you, remember?”

Shiro says nothing, but he leans more heavily against Keith.

In the room, Keith tilts his head at the door to his bathroom. “You want a shower?”

“Oh god yes,” Shiro groans. “Best idea I’ve heard in—” He freezes, looking upward as if trying to remember the length of his absence. “A long time.”

There’s not much room in the tiny bathroom, so Keith turns up the thermostat for his room and helps Shiro draw his shirt over his head and step out of his pants. Shiro’s joints don’t move quite right, stiff and shaky with disuse, and Keith can only think of getting him under some hot water and working the knots out of his body. Shiro’s been through more than enough pain for one lifetime. So whenever it’s in Keith’s power, he’ll ease the ache.

Shiro curls in on himself once he’s naked, arms wrapped around his ribs, staring at the floor. Keith leads him by the elbow into the shower, rolling the sleeves of his t-shirt up to his shoulders, even though he already knows he’s going to get wet one way or the other.

There are more scars on Shiro now, and half-healed gashes, evidence of repeated attacks with claws or whips. Keith lets his eyes flick over them, working them into his knowledge of Shiro’s body, unwilling to shield his gaze from the brutal reality.

Shiro sighs and crumples against the wall when the water strikes his skin, his back to Keith and his hands pressed against the tiled wall for balance. Keith soaps him up with great concentration, digging his fingers in hard where Shiro’s muscles have locked up in his back and hips, kneading them into flexibility. It’ll take more than one session like this to get Shiro back to his normal range of motion, but Keith’s got all the patience Shiro needs from him.

When he’s scrubbed Shiro from his neck to his ankles, and cleaned the dirt out of his hair, Keith pats his left arm. “Turn around for me, baby? Put your hands on my shoulders if you feel like you’re going to fall.”

Shiro takes small steps, turning in a slow circle, until he’s facing Keith. Keith can feel Shiro’s eyes on him as he bathes the rest of his body, easing through the new terrain of injuries, determined not to hurt Shiro further. He traces the line of Shiro’s clavicles, the rungs of his ribcage, and the V of his hipbones—all of these too prominent from lack of sustenance. He slides his palms down Shiro’s thighs, and Shiro moves his feet further apart so Keith can wash between his legs. The backs of Keith’s fingers brush against Shiro’s cock—soft, and nestled in tight curls of black hair. Shiro makes a small sound and lifts his hand to cover his mouth.

Keith’s throat is so tight he can’t speak, and he has to take long slow breaths until he’s no longer choking on relief. “Takashi,” he whispers, because it grounds Shiro, because the Galra don’t know his first name and the sound of it means safety, and home. “Can you tell me what you need?”

Shiro leans into him, forehead on Keith’s shoulder and dripping water all over Keith’s clothes and the bathroom floor. Doesn’t matter. Keith will clean it up later. All that matters is Shiro’s breath hitching against Keith’s throat and his arms locked around Keith’s waist. “I need you to remind me.”

“Of what?”

“What it feels like not to hurt.”

Shiro probably hears how Keith’s heartbeat responds to that, so there’s no reason to play coy. “You need me to make you feel good?” he asks, making certain.

“Please,” Shiro mouths into his skin, almost voiceless. “Keith, baby—”

“I’ve got you,” Keith tells him again, reaching down to take him in his hand. Shiro makes the sound again. “You’re okay,” Keith murmurs to him, and strokes him while the warm water runs down Shiro’s back, until Shiro tenses against him and comes into Keith’s hand. Keith gets him rinsed off, then wraps him in a soft robe and leads him to the bed.

Shiro hasn’t said a word since asking Keith to touch him, but he tugs at Keith’s hand, a silent request for Keith to lie down with him, and Keith strips off his own wet clothing and tucks them both under the blankets.

They sleep for a long time, and Keith wakes to Shiro petting his hair. He turns onto his side to face Shiro. “Doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “When I’m with you, I’m always okay.”

* * *

Keith spends most of his time in his room with Shiro, talking to him or sleeping next to him, or sometimes just watching him breathe when the lights are dimmed in the false night. He doesn’t think he could ever get tired of watching Shiro’s chest rise and fall, or of the sweet smile that unfurls like a sunrise across Shiro’s lips every time his eyes flutter open and he sees that Keith is still there with him.

At first, Shiro doesn’t get out of bed often except to stretch his legs or take a shower. As the days pass, he adds a short workout to his routine, and Keith makes sure to bring him plenty of food as he regains his strength. Yet even when Shiro’s body is almost back to normal, he still shakes his head every time Keith asks if he’d like to see the rest of the team.

“They need you, you know,” Keith says, not to make Shiro feel guilty, just to let him know he’s still wanted. What he really means is _I need you_ , but somehow that seems like too much to ask of Shiro. Someone who’s recently almost died should get to rest rather than deal with all of Keith’s emotions.

But the way Shiro’s looking at him from his seat on the edge of the bed, dark eyes glinting in the low light, it seems he might have decrypted Keith’s code. “I know,” he says, fingers curling into fists on his knees. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, I promise.”

“You don’t have to hurry,” Keith assures him, but Shiro shakes his head.

“I want to. I need to get back to my life. Sitting in here, doing nothing…it just doesn’t feel right.”

“Don’t worry, Shiro. You’ll be back on your feet in no time.” Keith turns to head out the door, but Shiro calls after him.

“Keith? How many times are you gonna have to save me before this is over?”

Keith hopes he’ll never have to do it again; knows that’s unlikely, given their situation. But it’s never too much, and he’ll do it until they’re home again. Whatever he has to give of himself, anything he must go through—“As many times as it takes,” he tells Shiro.

“Well, don’t kill yourself trying.” Shiro shoots him half a grin, but the joke falls flat. They both know Keith would put Shiro’s life before his own, every single time, and there’s nothing either of them can do about it.

* * *

One afternoon, after updating the rest of the team on Shiro’s condition, Keith returns to his room to find Shiro pacing and combing his fingers through his hair. “I need to get rid of this,” he tells Keith. “Just don’t feel like myself with it so long.”

“I’ve got clippers. Want me to do it?”

“No, I can. But could you keep me company?”

Keith sits crosslegged on the floor outside his bathroom, while Shiro squints into the mirror and sections his hair. Then he starts with the buzzer, taking the sides down. With a pair of scissors he trims his crown until it’s back to the usual length, leaving the white fringe to curl across his forehead. “How’s it look?” he asks when he’s done.

Keith tilts his head. “It looks great—but don’t you want the fade anymore?”

“The—” Shiro turns back to the mirror. “What?”

“You had the sides in a fade before. You know, shorter at the bottom?”

“Oh. Right. This was simpler to do, I guess. My head’s kinda hurting. I just wanted it done.”

Keith shrugs. “Okay, fair enough.”

“So,” Shiro says. “I was thinking maybe I could go see everyone later today? For a little while, at least? I’m not ready to try flying yet, but I miss the team.”

“They’d love that. Want to come to dinner tonight? Pidge and Lance went shopping at something they called an alien farmer’s market, and they found something they swear tastes exactly like roast beef. Can’t say if it’s animal, vegetable, or mineral, though. Also Hunk is experimenting again, and there may or may not be a cheesecake for dessert.”

Shiro lifts one eyebrow. “Is it a green cheesecake?”

“It is. So’s the ‘graham-cracker’ crust. I snuck a peek for you.”

Shiro winces. “I could always close my eyes. Sure, tell them I’ll be there.”

* * *

The dining room falls silent for a moment when Keith walks in with Shiro. Then there’s a choked-off sob from Hunk and a whoop from Lance, and the entire team comes tearing out of their chairs to surround Shiro. Pidge flings her arms around his middle, and Keith overhears him whisper, “Katie, we’re going to get your family back.”

When Pidge lets him go, Hunk is next in line. “Come here, man!” he says, and he hugs Shiro so hard, Keith could swear Shiro’s feet actually leave the ground.

Lance is hanging back, biting his lip, a little pink in the cheeks. He’s clutching something in his hand. “I don’t bite,” Shiro tells him, giving Lance the same soft grin he uses on skittish cats, and on Keith when Keith is having a bad day. “What do you have there?”

Lance holds out his hand. “Something for you. I found it in a gift shop at a museum on Planet—what was it again?”  
  
“Valxyhnjrl,” Allura says.

“Val—yeah, it had a lot of consonants,” Lance goes on. “The museum was cool though. They had a Voltron exhibit, so…” He drops a tiny figurine of a black lion into Shiro’s palm. “I didn’t know if you were gonna come back. I’m glad you did.”

“Thanks, Lance. It’s perfect.” Shiro looks over at Allura and Coran. “You guys wanna get in on the Free Shiro Hugs party or what?”

They do want to, of course. Coran cries on Shiro’s shoulder, and Allura tugs the pink ribbon out of her hair and throws it at a wastebasket, missing grandly. One of the mice scurries over to steal the ribbon. “Good riddance,” Allura tells the mouse. “That was because of you,” she informs Shiro. “Don’t ever make me wear pink again, Paladin. That’s an order.”

“Yes, Princess.” Shiro bows deeply and kisses the back of her hand. “Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I am _starving_. Shall we eat?”

The Roast Something does in fact taste amazing, and Keith has seconds. Shiro has _thirds_ , which is fantastic, since it means he’s got an appetite again.

Then Hunk brings out dessert, and Shiro’s eyes go wide. “It’s _white_?”

“Of course it is,” Hunk says. “It’s _cheesecake_.”

“How’d you make it…not green?” Keith asks.

“Can’t tell. Family secret.”

“You have a family secret for how to make food goo not be green?”

“Don’t question my secrets, Keith. Just eat the cake.”

* * *

After the plates have been cleared away and they’ve all been chatting for awhile, Keith catches Shiro bouncing his leg and rubbing his temples. “Headache worse?” he whispers.

“Yeah, I’m really not feeling so hot. Think we could call it a night?”

“Let me just go tell them what’s up.”

“Sure. I’m gonna go on ahead.”

When Keith returns to his room, the lights are dimmed, but Shiro’s sitting up in bed. He’s not wearing a shirt, and the sheets are pulled up high around his waist, but Keith suspects he might not be wearing anything else either. “Hey,” he says, closing the door gently. “How are you feeling?”

“Better in here. The bright lights just make me feel so—” Shiro frowns, searching for the word. “Exposed? No, I don’t know. Forget it. Come here, baby, I want to see you.” He holds his arms out, and Keith lets himself think—for the first time since Shiro came back—of what _he_ wants.

Oh, he wants so much. He crawls onto the bed, on top of the sheets and between Shiro’s legs, and the sheet shifts down as he does so. The dark patch of hair below Shiro’s navel lets him know Shiro is _not_ wearing anything but those sheets. His mouth goes dry.

Shiro laughs. It’s a good sound; it’s been too many months since Keith last heard it. Even if Shiro is laughing at him, he’s willing to allow it.

“What’s so funny?”

“You look kinda hungry,” Shiro says. “Planning to eat me alive?”

This is not helping the dry mouth situation. Keith has half a mind to go get himself some water and dump part of it on Shiro in revenge, but he’s too interested in whatever Shiro has going on under the covers. “Maybe,” he says primly. “If that’s what you want.”

“Baby, I want you all over me. I want you in me.”

“Forward tonight, aren’t we?”

“I’ve been patient,” Shiro says. “And now I’m focused. But it’s okay if you don’t wa—”

Keith is already kissing him, pulling Shiro’s lower lip between his teeth and biting down until Shiro whimpers. “Of course I want you.”

Shiro pulls the sheets to the side. He’s already hard, cock flushed and shining wet at the tip. “I was touching myself while I waited for you,” he says. “Thinking of you and what I wanted you to do to me.”

“I’ll do everything you want.”

“I know you will. They left so many marks on me, baby. Give me some to show me where I belong.”

“With me,” Keith tells him. “Always with me.” He sets his fingernails against Shiro’s skin just under his collarbones. Then he rakes his nails down Shiro’s chest, watching the red trails blooming in his wake, watching the muscles of Shiro’s abdomen twitch at the sudden pain. He does it a second time, offset, and Shiro bites off a shout. “That’s right, let me hear you,” Keith says. “You’re mine, Takashi.”

Shiro’s eyes shine in the low light. “I’m _home_ ,” he says, disbelieving. “I’m here and I’m home and I’m yours.”

Keith pushes Shiro’s legs apart, and he leans down to mouth at the delicate flesh of Shiro’s inner thighs. “Mine,” he sighs, and bites down hard.

This time Shiro does cry out, throwing his head back and shoving his fingers into Keith’s hair. But it’s not to push Keith away; it’s to hold him close. Shiro’s breathing in short bursts, and when Keith looks up at him, he’s staring at Keith like he’s seeing heaven. And heaven always feels so far away, but maybe Keith can give them both a taste of paradise.

Keith works his way up toward the junction of Shiro’s thighs, sucking red bruises into his skin. By the time he’s breathing damp, hot air over the base of Shiro’s cock, Shiro is squirming, and Keith slaps the tops of his thighs to settle him. “Hold still, honey. I’m gonna take care of you.”

Shiro swallows hard, closes his eyes, and does as he’s told.

“Stay just like that for me, Takashi. Don’t move.” When Keith’s certain that Shiro’s got himself under control, he takes the slick head of Shiro’s cock into his mouth and holds him there, waiting. Shiro whimpers, and the fingers in Keith’s hair flex, but he keeps his hips still. Keith hums around him, a soft noise of praise, and wraps his hand around the shaft. Shiro’s huge, and it’s been months since Keith last did this, so he doesn’t expect to be able to show off today. By the sounds Shiro’s making, though, Keith’s impressing him plenty. It’s not long until salt floods his mouth, and he pulls off, grinning at Shiro, who is red-faced.

“Sorry,” Shiro says. “That was…quick.”

“It was beautiful,” Keith corrects him. “You’re gorgeous when you come, don’t you know that? Besides, I’m not done with you yet. You said you wanted me in you.”

“Please, _fuck_ —”

“That’s the idea.” Keith pulls off his T-shirt, and suddenly Shiro’s hands are on his hips.

Shiro looks like he’s been slapped. “Oh, baby,” he whispers, feeling the edges of a ragged burn scar on Keith’s side where a drone’s laser fire had struck him. “You got hurt.”

“It’s not bad. Not like—what you went through.” But Keith lets him touch. Shiro needs to remember Keith’s body, too.

Shiro opens the button on Keith’s jeans and unzips him slowly, tugging the jeans down over Keith’s hips, making Keith hiss when he’s released from the tight denim. He cups Keith in one hand, stroking gently. “I’m so proud of you for flying the Black Lion while I was gone.”

Turns out the compliment doesn’t sting any less when it’s coming from Shiro. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice, and you chose to save the universe.” With a hand around the back of Keith’s neck, Shiro coaxes him down into a kiss, his soft mouth a balm for the ache in Keith’s heart.

“You okay on your back?” Keith asks. “I wanna see you.”

“That sounds perfect,” Shiro whispers. He eases himself down until he’s lying flat, feet braced on the bed and knees spread wide.

Keith has a method for driving Shiro crazy with need, and Shiro knows to expect it by now. Nevertheless, he’s pleading as soon as Keith gets one finger into him. “I’m not gonna hurry,” Keith murmurs. “Even though your begging sounds so pretty, baby.”

Shiro whines, rolling his hips, trying to take Keith deeper, but all he accomplishes is making Keith withdraw from him.

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you?” Keith asks. “But if you’d rather fuck yourself…” He leaves open the implications. They both know there’s a box stashed under Shiro’s bed in a locked cabinet, its contents collected from many alien worlds on shopping trips that made them both blush and laugh into each other’s shoulders. Sometimes Keith does play with Shiro that way, making him work a thick, heavy toy inside himself and telling him to keep it there.

But that’s not what Shiro wants right now. Shiro wants warmth, and comfort, and Keith. And he’s holding still again, so Keith pushes back into him—two this time, since he’s being so good. He loves getting Shiro messy like this, all slick and wet and wanting. Loves lining himself up and looking right into Shiro’s desperate gray eyes, watching Shiro’s lashes flutter as his body opens to Keith. Loves the quiver of yielding muscles, the heat of him tight around Keith—alive, alive, _alive_.

Shiro’s hard again, sweat gleaming on his shoulders and chest, and Keith lowers his body onto Shiro’s with his weight braced on his forearms. He rocks his hips, buried as deep as he can get, kissing Shiro’s open, panting mouth. “When you’re ready to come, I want you to tell me,” he instructs Shiro. “And then I’ll tell you if I’m ready to let you.”

Shiro’s lost the use of language, but he nods wildly. Keith narrows his focus to the thump of Shiro’s heart against Keith’s chest, the catch in his breath, his parted lips. Any minute now, and Shiro will—

Shiro grabs onto Keith’s bicep, his grip almost painful. “Please—Keith—I need to come, please, I can’t— _aahh_ —”

There it is. “No, love, not just yet,” Keith soothes him. He slows his thrusts, but he’s still hitting Shiro where it counts. “I know you can take a little more. Be good for me, Takashi.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shiro breathes, but he grits his teeth and he doesn’t come.

Keith lets him struggle for a few more moments before relenting. He presses his mouth to the underside of Shiro’s jaw, giving him kisses that are closer to bites, and says, “Come, baby, come all over yourself,” and wetness splashes Keith’s belly as Shiro cries out.

He’s about to pull out, when Shiro wraps his legs around Keith and clings like he’s falling and Keith’s his anchor. “Don’t stop,” Shiro begs. “Please, just—”

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” Keith tells him, but Shiro moans, tightening around him, and Keith can’t help but rock into Shiro again. “Fuck, baby, okay, tell me what you need,” he breathes.

“Don’t let me think anymore.” Shiro hitches himself forward, getting more of Keith’s cock in him, and Keith breathes in slowly, trying not to come right then and there. “Just take me apart.”

So Keith moves in him, slow and deep and perfect, as Shiro arches beneath him, trembling. These long months, he’d never given up hope, never, but there was still a small and desolate part of him that wondered if he’d ever see Shiro again, touch him, hold him, be with him, be inside him, just like this. He blinks hard, but his eyes are burning, filling; tears splash onto Shiro’s chest before Keith can stop them. He presses his forehead against Shiro’s shoulder, abruptly unable to command his own body.

“Hey,” Shiro says, his voice instantly steady and clear. “Keith, hey, are you okay?”

“I’m—I don’t—” Keith clutches at Shiro’s shoulders, breathless, his thoughts fogged up with staticky terror. What if he’d lost this forever?

“Do you need to stop?” Shiro asks, and Keith shakes his head, because he doesn’t want to stop; he wants to give Shiro everything Shiro needs, but by now the tears are coming thick and fast and he can’t speak. “Oh, sweetheart,” Shiro says. “Shh, baby, I’ve got you.” He eases Keith out of him, pulling Keith up so he’s lying on Shiro’s chest, shaking in Shiro’s arms. Shiro traces Keith’s spine with his fingertips, petting the back of Keith’s head with his other hand. “You’re okay, Keith. I’m here. Just rest and breathe, that’s it. I love you so much.”

“Sorry,” Keith mumbles against Shiro’s skin, when he gets his voice back.

“What for?” Shiro hasn’t stopped stroking his back.

“Couldn’t do what you wanted.”

“No, baby. You were amazing. You made me feel so good, Keith. Everything I want is right here, with you.” Shiro tips his chin up with a gentle finger and kisses him softly on the mouth. “Tell me what you need.”

“I didn’t wanna stop yet. It felt—you felt good. It was just…a lot.”

“We could take a break,” Shiro suggests. “And try again later.”

“Could we…would you be okay with trying now?”

Shiro nods. “I’m good with that. But I have an idea, if you want.”

Shiro’s idea is to sit up again and have Keith ride him, so that he can hold Keith close and kiss the tears off his cheeks. Keith latches his arms around Shiro’s neck and rolls his hips in Shiro’s lap, until the knot inside his chest releases and he gathers his wits again. Shiro’s making little needy sounds now, and Keith can’t help but smile against Shiro’s jaw. “Gonna come again, babe?”

“Yeah,” Shiro gasps. “Tell me how you want it.”

Keith grips the back of Shiro’s neck, staring into his eyes. “In me,” he orders. “Do it now, Takashi, come for me.”

“Fuck, baby—” And Shiro is coming in him, filling him with heat, and Keith never, never wants to let go.

Shiro reaches between them and takes Keith in his hand, holding Keith’s gaze while he jerks him off. He doesn’t pull out of Keith, as if he’s in no hurry to separate from him.

“Go on, baby. Make a mess,” Shiro encourages, rubbing his thumb in maddening circles under the head of Keith’s cock until Keith crumples forward, muffling his shout in Shiro’s collarbone.

Keith tries to lift himself off Shiro, but his knees shake, and he slumps heavy in Shiro’s lap, moaning as Shiro slides deeper into his tender hole. Shiro makes a soothing noise and grasps Keith by the hips to help him pull off. He gets Keith laid out on his front, petting the back of his neck, his shoulderblades, and each line of his ribs. They lie quietly beside each other for awhile, Keith half-dozing, and then he feels Shiro’s fingers sliding over his entrance, slick with the come leaking out of him.

“Really wanna eat you out,” Shiro murmurs.

They haven’t done that before, but Keith knows it’s something Shiro would love to do. His face is blazing with the touch and the proposition, and he hides his eyes in his pillow. It’s only a suggestion; he can say no, or say nothing, and it won’t be a big deal. …Then again, he could say yes. Experimentally, he pushes against Shiro’s hand. It makes Shiro’s finger dip inside him, and Keith hears Shiro’s breath hitch. “Okay,” Keith whispers.

Shiro’s silent for a moment, and Keith wonders if Shiro even heard him or if he’s going to have to screw up his courage again. Then Shiro speaks in a soft and awe-struck voice: “You want me to?”

An image flashes into Keith’s mind of Shiro’s head between his thighs, and he whimpers, spreading his legs as an invitation. “Yes,” he confirms, and he feels Shiro’s weight settle on the backs of his legs, and Shiro’s huge palms on his ass, spreading him open. He squirms under Shiro’s heavy gaze, hole clenching on nothing.

Shiro doesn’t miss it, and he laughs. “Eager, huh?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Keith grumbles, but Shiro lowers his head, exhaling over him, and Keith feels himself twitching again.

“You’re cute,” Shiro tells him. “Cute all over, but especially right—here—” And he flicks the tip of his tongue against Keith’s entrance. “All desperate and dripping with my come. Fuck, I want you,” he sighs, and then he’s flattening his tongue over Keith and licking him in broad swipes, pushing two fingers into him to open him up and thrust his tongue deep.

Keith’s mind is a haze of shame and pleasure. He can’t believe Shiro’s moaning against his hole like this, and can’t believe _himself_ for the way he’s shoving back onto Shiro’s fingers, rubbing himself against the sheets, throwing aside all pretense of dignity. He needs to come again, and he’s going to, writhing on Shiro’s tongue and crying out Shiro’s name like a prayer, begging him for more, for everything.

And Shiro gives him all that he needs and more besides; gives Keith what he never knew he could ask for; gives even himself to Keith, holding nothing back, not his body nor his soul nor his heart. As if carved in stone, the knowledge inscribes itself in Keith’s heart: to come together is to come home, for they are home to each other, and they will never leave each other behind.

**Author's Note:**

> \- hhhahaha i actually wrote the majority of this before s6, so just imagine how much it hurts to reread certain parts of it! oof.
> 
> \- want to yell at me for breaking your heart? [here's my tumblr!](https://belovedsheith.tumblr.com)


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